Riders of Tyr Book 2: Hellhound

Book 2: Hellhound

Iris

Scrounging for food in a trashcan isn’t my lowest point. I’ve endured worse for a slice of bread. I don’t feel any shame as I rummage through the garbage.

At least I’m free, alone, and relatively safe.

“Hey, girl!” A voice startles me.

A black woman stands at the back door of a building, holding a brown bag. I pull my hood tighter, scanning my surroundings for potential threats.

“Come on, girl. Take this.”

She offers me the bag. I eye it warily, as if it might explode. The bag is stained with grease, a sure sign of food.

But I don’t know what she expects in return.

“I ain’t got all day, girl. Take the food.”

I approach her cautiously, my eyes darting around. I snatch the bag and retreat to a safe corner to devour its contents. The day is bright and sunny, but my world is dark and gloomy.

I can barely remember a time when it wasn’t. Survival is my only goal. I need to find a way to provide for myself, to find shelter.

I won’t last long on the streets. It’s only a matter of time before someone notices me, realizes I’m alone and vulnerable. That I’m a girl.

Then I’ll have to run again, if I’m lucky enough to get the chance.

That thought sends a shiver down my spine. I reach for the screwdriver in my hoodie pocket. I won’t go down without a fight.

I won’t just roll over and die. I have to survive. She would want me to survive.

The problem is, I can’t just get any job. Jobs require names and papers, things I don’t have. And I’d rather live on the streets than risk being found.

“Shit!” A voice nearby startles me.

I snap out of my thoughts. There’s a white Prius with its hood up by the curb. A woman is bent over the engine.

“Fuck! Shit!” she continues to curse.

I approach, unsure if I want to help. She seems pretty angry. But this is a dangerous neighborhood for a woman with a white Prius to be stranded in.

I swallow hard, tighten my hoodie, and walk up to her. I’ve always been drawn to broken-down cars. The thought of being under a hood, fixing a problem, calms me.

“Uhm…,” I manage to say.

That’s all it takes. The woman straightens up. She’s tall, but then again, anyone taller than a child seems tall to me. Her long, ebony hair falls over her shoulders.

She turns to me with green eyes, quickly assessing me. If she were in a suit, I’d peg her as a businesswoman. But her loose gray blouse, black tights, and soft ballerinas suggest otherwise.

Maybe she’s a businesswoman’s daughter. But her calculating gaze tells me she’s not some spoiled brat lost in the wrong part of town.

“Uhm… Can I help?” I venture.

“If you know anything about cars, you might.” Her voice is stern, but not cold.

I look around, suddenly feeling foolish. This could be a trap. I bend over to help, get hit on the head, and end up back in the hell I fought so hard to escape.

“It’s okay,” the woman says. “I doubt I’d help my own mother in this neighborhood.”

She smiles and walks around her car. She leans in through the window to grab her charging cell phone. I let out a sigh and turn my attention to the engine.

There are many things in the world I don’t understand, and even more that I don’t want to understand. But I understand motors. From mixers to tankers, I know how things work.

And when I don’t, I learn quickly. I push away the memories of how I acquired this knowledge and focus on the engine.

“Pick up!” the woman mutters as I work.

“Try it!” I call to her.

She looks surprised but hangs up her phone. She gets in the car and presses the Start button. The engine roars to life.

She gets out of the car, smiling.

“Thank you!” she says. “I get enough grief for choosing a Prius from my boyfri… Shit! I guess I should say from my fiancé.”

She smiles to herself and shakes her head. I turn to leave as quickly as I can. Hearing about other people’s normal lives isn’t my thing.

“Excuse me!” she calls after me.

I turn slowly, still trying to hide my face. I don’t trust anyone. I’m better off alone.

Let others live their lives, get engaged, get married. I want none of it.

“You’re good with engines?” she asks.

I nod.

“Are you looking for a job?”

I frown. I’ve heard of people praying, but I never believed anyone answered. No one has ever answered my prayers.

Not now, not ever. I’ve prayed for salvation, for death. No one ever helped me. I doubt anyone will start now.

I say nothing. The woman studies me, then raises an eyebrow as if she’s made a decision. She moves to the driver’s seat and reaches for her bag.

She pulls out a pen and paper and writes something down.

“There’s a garage here.” She hands me a piece of paper with an address on it. “If you’re looking for a job, go there and say Ava sent you.”

“Is…is it a kind of job that…” I hesitate. “That would pay in cash?”

“Pay in cash, pay well, and ask few questions.” Her beautiful eyes narrow.

She’s not a businesswoman, nor a brat. There’s a certain aura about her, something almost perilous.

I should have noticed it sooner. She’s a woman who carries danger like a second skin.

It was the Prius that had me fooled. But now, as she gazes at me, her expression is soft, inviting.

I simply nod in response. I tuck the paper into my pocket and take my leave.